The Roar of Survival
by Emerald Kitten
Summary: The cold fingers of fear gripped his heart when he heard that rumble way off in the distance, turning the blood in his veins to ice and bringing time to a standstill. In this new world the sounds of survival weren't always a good thing to hear. Written in response to the USS CARYL'S Emotion prompt on tumblr.


Daryl recognized the faint rumble of the familiar engine long before he saw the motorbike approach. He'd been standing in the middle of what he thought had been a deserted road, scanning the horizon for any birds overhead he could pick off for dinner. Game had become scarce on the ground lately; a by-product of the dead overrunning the Earth.

People were tired and they were hungry. It fell on Daryl's shoulders to provide for the remaining members of their group.

At first he'd thought he'd just imagined the distinctive thunder bouncing around the countryside but the sound grew louder and louder until it seemed like the trees lining either side of the highway were vibrating with the sheer power of the approaching machine. In a world filled primarily with the sounds of the dead the roar of that engine filled the early evening air like a chorus of angels singing.

It was a song Daryl never thought he'd hear again in his lifetime.

There was no way he wouldn't know that sound; he and Merle had built that thing from the ground up. Every tick, every rattle, every note that she played was etched into his memory beat for beat. The roar that beast produced cut through the stagnant air like a hot knife slipping through butter.

The sound of the rapidly approaching bike scared the absolute shit out of the hunter.

The cold fingers of fear gripped his heart when he heard that rumble way off in the distance, turning the blood in his veins to ice and bringing time to a standstill. In a world where the dead ruled there shouldn't have been anyone else to be found along the empty stretch of Georgian highway. In this new world the sounds of survival weren't always a good thing to hear.

It had been two days since Daryl had struck out on a hunting mission. The few small squirrels he'd managed to bag before he'd left hadn't offered much sustenance in the grand scheme of things. So many were out of commission and it fell to Daryl find dinner. They needed food if they were going to survive this latest hurdle brought on by the Governor's attack. Two days out in the woods Daryl had yet to encounter another living person. That's just how the world was now. The presence of another person shouldn't have alarmed him but it did. You couldn't afford to outwardly trust people no more.

Good people turned bad quicker than you could blink now.

The land surrounding Daryl was unnaturally silent save for the booming way off the distance. The steady rumble of the engine grew louder and louder with each passing second as the bike rolled closer and closer to his exposed location in the middle of the highway. Despite recognizing the sound of the motor Daryl had no desire to acquaint himself with the rider of that bike. There was no telling who had laid claim to the machine since the fall of the prison. The need to get himself and Beth out of there and somewhere safe had stopped Daryl from backtracking to pick up the faithful set of wheels.

The bike had been abandoned without a second thought, simple as that.

Merle would be rolling in his grave right now if he knew Daryl just up left the bike without a backwards glance. That machine had been the older Dixon's pride and joy during his shitty life. It was uncanny how much the machine resembled the man; all noise and bravado and power. Something that made others turn their heads and take notice.

Yep, that had been Merle all right.

Daryl had thought for sure that when the prison had fallen he would never hear that engine again. It was just a fact of their nomadic lifestyle now that you couldn't risk your neck for materialistic belongings no matter who the previous owner had been.

The hunter cocked his head to the side, trying to get a fix on which direction the mystery rider was coming from. The hollow he was standing in the base of obscured the origin of the sound, throwing echoes of the engine back and forth around his head and screwing up his sense of direction. Daryl took a deep breath and concentrated, closing his eyes and stilling his breath. Once he'd centred himself the faint feel of vibrations to his left gave away the direction of the incoming. Daryl's head snapped towards the hill in the far west. The sun was setting just behind the ridge, bathing the surrounding land in a golden haze and making it impossible to see anything clearly.

The fact he could only hear the approaching vehicle intensified the grip of the ice-cold hand wrapped around his rapidly beating heart. The fear of discovery outweighed his normal flight response. He knew the Triumph was going to coast over that hill any second. The cover provided by the hollow would only last so long and then the hunter would become the hunted.

Daryl wanted to run. He wanted nothing more than to turn tail and flee deep into the woods and hide under the cover provided by the trees. Problem was his legs wouldn't co-operate with what his head was screaming for him to do. The ice filling his veins had seeped down and frozen his legs to the river of concrete like it was a river of water in mid December.

The setting sun would betray Daryl's location while continuing to shroud the identity of the rider in darkness. Despite the potential incoming threat the hunter still couldn't will himself to move. He was like a deer stuck in the headlights of an approaching vehicle and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

The rumbling sound grew closer and closer until eventually a speck of shadow crested the far-off hill to the west. The combination of the setting sun and great distance camouflaged the identity of the rider but there was no denying that the machine flying down the highway and coming directly towards Daryl's exposed location was definitely Merle's old ride.

There was no hiding the sound she made. Noisy as all Hell, just like Merle.

Until he heard the engine of the Triumph moments ago Daryl had been certain he was the only person alive for miles. After what the Governor and his people had done to the prison there was no way of knowing if the person riding the bike was friend or foe. He couldn't stay exposed like he was now, standing in the middle of the road with his ass hanging out. Whoever was out there would have a clear view of Daryl if he stayed put. One thing was for certain though; there was no way in Hell he knew the person riding his bike. None of the others from the prison had ever learned to handle the Triumph.

The spell keeping him fixed to the spot finally broke when the bike started to descend down the hill. Spurred into action, Daryl sprinted for the cover of a large oak poised by the edge of the road. He'd hide behind there until the rider passed by, then he could get back to locating some game if the asshole roaring through the country like they were on their way to Sturgis didn't scare off what little was left about.

He prayed the rider hadn't caught sight of him already.

Daryl watched and waited, his crossbow raised and tracking the progression of the mystery biker. The sharp sunlight cut through the canopy of leaves overhead, catching the hunter right across the eyes. A hard white light exploded inside his skull and he ducked his head on reflex, trying to escape the intensity of the beam. The glaring sun bursting into his brain made Daryl stumble for a second, causing the dead leaves beneath his feet to snap under his boots.

How could he be so stupid as to let a little sun blind him? He was better than that for fuck's sake!

When Daryl finally got his sight back he found the mysterious rider had pulled to a stop in the middle of the road, right where the hunter had been frozen to the spot only moments ago. The rumble of the engine was silenced as the machine was quickly killed, blanketing the countryside in an unnatural stillness once more.

Daryl tightened his grip on his crossbow, lining up his sights with the person stupid enough to ride Dixon property. From his vantage point behind the foliage he finally had a decent view of the person who managed to handle that bike like it was an extension of their own body.

He'd been certain the person charging in on the Triumph like it was their own person chariot would be a stranger to him. It never occurred to him he would actually recognize not only the sound of bike but the identity of the rider mounted on top.

The face of the rider was obscured by a low hanging branch located directly in Daryl's line of sight, leaving only the body visible. He knew who it was without seeing their face though. He'd recognize her anywhere. He watched as the bike kickstand hit the pavement, followed by one serious looking boot clad foot. Daryl's eyes travelled slowly up from her ankle, raking over each buckle on the dark leather until he reached the knuckle duster handle of knife strapped securely to her waist.

He recognized that knife; he picked it out especially for her on a run long ago.

He took a tentative step forward and quietly swept the offending limb blocking his view out of the way. The ice-cold fear that had previously held a death grip on him evaporated the moment the identity of the mystery rider was revealed, leaving nothing but the feel of sweet relief in its wake.

There were a few changes to her appearance, but considering it'd been so long since he'd seen her that was to be expected. Her hair had lengthened, making the halo covering her head thicker and darker. She looked stronger somehow too. The woman had been a pillar of strength and tough as nails before Rick had kicked her ass to the curb, but there was something about the way she held herself when she roared up on that bike; a squaring to her shoulders that he'd never noticed before.

The woman was oozing confidence from every pore. She'd become so strong since the world went to shit that it still amazed Daryl to see the changes in her. That meek person he'd first met at the quarry was a ghost of the past now. It wasn't just her demeanour or hair that had changed neither. Somewhere along the way she'd acquired a mean looking black leather jacket too. That was a smart edition; better to be sporting leather if she did take a tumble and go flying over the handlebars than be without the protective covering. Wouldn't cushion the blow but it'd save her skin from becoming hamburger if she went sliding along the pavement.

He was proud of her. She wouldn't let this world beat her down. Carol was a survivor.

Daryl couldn't help but smirk at the sight of the woman before him. It had been so long…too long since he'd seen her. In all honestly he never thought he'd see her again, yet here she was in the flesh right in front of him with her heels planted on the asphalt and his brother's bike balanced between her thighs.

He knew the woman well enough by not to underestimate her will to survive. She had demonstrated the uncanny ability to always land on her feet, just like a damned cat.

Merle would definitely be rolling in his grave if he saw her now. The woman who he'd described as a mouse looked far from it dressed head to toe in leather and wearing confidence in spades to top off the look. Dressed in that getup with rays of sunshine hitting her from behind made her look like some sort of death metal angel sent from above. Either that or the 'Biker Babe' of the month from one of Merle's girlie mag's the older Dixon had read religiously before the Turn.

The thought of Merle leering at Carol, eying her up like she was just some piece of ass made the previously cold blood in Daryl's veins boil red-hot. The fact that Merle was dead and would never have the chance to paw at Carol didn't lessen the anger coursing through the younger Dixon's body though. Daryl had the sudden urge to punch something…anything. The need to let out his anger was almost overpowering but still he stayed rooted to the spot under the massive oak.

He realized with a start that he felt jealous. He was jealous of the thought of his dead brother trying to make a move of the woman he couldn't tear his eyes away from now. It wasn't just that he never though he'd see her astride that bike that was keeping his eyes glued to her.

The confidence…the leather…the knife…

He'd never seen her look so damn sexy before.

Carol was sexy. Always had been. It wasn't just the leather outfit. He'd just been too blinded by his own ignorance of the fact to see what had always been right there in front of him. But he could see it now, clear as day. The shock of realizing the extent of his feelings for her was overpowering. The crossbow slipped from his hands, landing with a clatter amongst the debris of the forest floor.

Daryl didn't even notice he'd dropped it; he was too busy focusing on the woman on the bike.

Carol's head spanned around, her eyes narrowing towards the direction of the sound. Her gaze landed on the hunter, sending the beating of his once fear-filled heart into overdrive. The person he'd been trying to hide from had found his location without any trouble and it didn't bother him in the slightest.

"Hey Pookie," she said calmly, staring straight at him. The woman swung her leg over the bike and stepped away from the machine. "You miss me?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye and a teasing smile on her lips.

Daryl couldn't find the words to answer her. He simply stepped free from the cover of the trees and moved towards the grinning woman. There was no controlling the smile that spread across his face the closer he drew to her. The rider he'd been petrified to the point of hiding from was now the only person in the world he wanted to see.

She always landed on her feet and she still hadn't cashed in all her nine lives yet.

It was then Daryl realized it wasn't the roar of the engine he'd heard bouncing all over the countryside earlier; it had been the roar of survival. _Her survival._

It was the best damned sound he'd heard in his whole life.

**A/N: Thank you for reading. This was written in response to the USS Caryl's Emotion prompt. I focused on fear and relief, with a little jealously thrown in there for good measure. Just a little something to continue to try and break through this writer's block I can't seem to shake. It's not the best but I hope you enjoyed. I know I personally love the idea of Carol riding in on Daryl's bike and surprising him with her sudden arrival. Thanks again for reading :)**


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